In The Middle of Third Mainland Bridge

The danfo is a hub 
of abnormalities. 

This one is being towed 
by another. 

In this mobile mini-market, 
we jostle for space,

throw jabs of tongue
in search of quiet.

The day has taken its toll
but I must endure this torture.

A bug crawls on the shawl 
across a woman’s shoulder –

a man by the window
squashes another.

There is an uproar!
We fling the bus driver 

under vocal hammers,
mouth-wash the conductor,

who probably had his morning 
bath with sachets of spirit.

Yet another bug saunters out 
of the most unexpected places…

They say a woman can hide
a country in her handbag.

Today, I believe.

I Started this Poem in a Lagos Traffic

Urgent words 
screech on my tarmac. 
There’s a friction of nerves 
& emotions, nudging bumpers 
& perpetually depressed horns 
locked in a battle of decibels. 

But the speedometer is idle. 
The muse burns & 
the gas tank is almost empty. 
It’s a race on the same spot.

Langkawi

I have no souvenir,
only these seashells 
in the sand of regret.
I couldn’t taste your tides, 
nor sate my longing 
for a sunbath 
on your shores.

Unity

The sun bleeds into time’s bowl – 
a ritual of dusk by the river.
I watch brown waters breathe 
softly beneath Unity Bridge. 
Last time I was here, two years 
ago, Asa dam was in a coma.

Road

On the eve of Father’s return to his station at Idah, we sit in the parlour after night prayers & take bites of memories sandwiched in stretches of silence. We pluck ripples in the air. He picks his bag at dawn. Mother says the benediction while the car warms. Emotions grow volatile – eyes become ripe with clouds. A farewell rain looms.

Like Father, I’m married to the road. It has taken me to places away from the city – closer to nature, closer to strangers. I once met a hunch-backed road. Somewhere in Omu-Aran, a brown-skinned lane stops to have a bath in the river. 

Yesterday, I chased a butterfly – perhaps it would be easier to explain to Daughter why I always disappear at dawn, before she wakes, if I brought her a live souvenir.


Jide Badmus is an engineer, and a poet inspired by beauty and destruction; he believes that things in ruins were once beautiful. Exploring themes around sensuality and healing. He is the author of several books including Obaluaye (FlowerSong Press, 2022) and What Do I Call My Love for Your Body (Roaring Lion Newcastle, 2022). Badmus is the founder of INKspiredng, Poetry Editor for Con-scio Magazine, mentor in the SprinNG Fellowship, and member of the board of advisors for Libretto Magazine. Badmus has curated/edited several anthologies. He is A Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee. Badmus writes from Lagos and tweets @bardmus.

Cover photo: Franck Lequeux-Capello